Poems don't have to rhyme.
What a way to spend your time,
Constrained within a paradigm.
But, admittedly when they do,
They are quite sublime,
Giving each word a reverberating chime.
Writer's block
Is like a rock,
A door that's locked,
A brain out of stock.
The mind is a forest
Still with places where no one goes
It doesn't disclose the secrets no one knows
There is no line between poetry and prose.
Because poems don't have to rhyme.
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 10:18 PM UTC
Poems don't have to rhyme.
What a way to spend your time,
Constrained within a paradigm.
But, admittedly when they do,
They are quite sublime,
Giving each word a reverberating chime.
Writer's block
Is like a rock,
A door that's locked,
A brain out of stock.
The mind is a forest
Still with places where no one goes
It doesn't disclose the secrets no one knows
There is no line between poetry and prose.
Because poems don't have to rhyme.
Request permission to use this poem